


Familiar

by Smokemycancer



Series: These Days [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokemycancer/pseuds/Smokemycancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His face is familiar. His laughter wakes up memories of hot coco and Saturday morning cartoons. He reminds me of an old friend, long lost to travel and family falling outs. I can’t take my eyes off of him. . . .Quick start of a series involving future Yevgeny Milkovich and Jemma Ball. AU/Future FIC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> So this short oneshot is heading off a series I'm calling These Days, taking place 17 years after the current events in Shameless. You'll find flash back in future parts of the whole. Explanations. Heart break. Etc etc. Varying points of view from yevgeny, Jemma, Mickey, and maybe some others. As a stand alone piece, I realize this is might be out of place and odd. But hopefully. . .enjoy it anyway!

His face is familiar. His laughter wakes up memories of hot coco and saturday morning cartoons. Each time he brushes against my shoulder, I’m nine years old again, getting spun around until I’m nauseated and dizzy. He reminds me of an old friend, long lost to travel and family falling outs. I can’t take my eyes off of his mouth, twisted up and sarcastic. Lost in my thoughts, drifted back into better days and longful wishes, he’s almost moving in slow motion before me. But my train of focus is broken by the thick rumble of engines starting up around me. Roaring so loud now and someone fires a gun. My eye candy covers his ears and spins around. He’s still shouting at the bookie, this time to no avail.

I grip my key, tied to the band around my wrist. Rub the notches for good luck and turn my eyes on the red Nissan Silva resting under a half burned tree. She may not be much to look at, but when I go up against Mr. Familiar here and his souped up Acura, she’ll help me win my eleventh street race. He doesn’t know it yet, but as I stand here, still sporting my white leotard from practice, I’m going to take him for all he’s worth.

He taps my shoulder and I glance up at him. He’s not taller than me, just standing on the hill side. The outskirts where these races are held, they are bumpy, rough, and wooded terrain. He cups his mouth and leans in. Asks me my name. His voice like thunder in this darkness. Pot smoke dances around us. 

“Jemma!” I shout back at him, holding one ear. He doesn’t hear me. “Jemma!” I repeat. “It’s Jemma!”

“Justine?” He shouts back, sort of laughing. He can’t hear me, I can barely hear him. “I’m Yevgeny!”

Shaking my head, I shrug and he grins, drops the conversation. We stand amongst the tiny crowd of watchers, baby mamas, singled out thugs, biochemistry majors, you name it they race. No one in my family knows I’m doing this. My father would kill over. But here I am, ballet shoes and all. The third lap rounds up and Mr. Familiar taps my shoulder before we part ways for our respected rides. He wishes me good luck. He’ll be the one who needs it.

Before I step into my car, I turn slightly and look back at him. Curious. He’s standing stock still, feet from his car, answering his cellphone. I’m about to climb in when I see him turn back and hand a wad of cash to the bookie, who then waves me over as Mr. Familiar runs to his car and speeds off.

I feel jipped. He’s forfeited, I’ve earned his share of the bets. But my bones tingle, my chest flutters. I can feel it in my fingertips, my need and want for this particular race. And I don’t know why.

I’m angry.

 


End file.
